Other People
by weirdyweirderton
Summary: Just sprung from the pit, Sam and Dean must deal with the aftermath of Hell. Meanwhile, kids are disappearing from towns just outside Samuel Colt's 100 mile Devil's Trap. Sam and Dean investigate and run into an old, old enemy.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **I wrote this fiction on the assumption that Sam and Bobby bust Dean out of Hell. It's been five months since the showdown in New Harmony. Dean is back and dealing with the aftermath. When kids start getting abducted from towns bordering Samuel Colt's 100 mile Devil's trap, he and Sam go investigate.

Other People

Prologue

Tobias "Toby" Fletcher was kept in darkness. He knew that he was in some kind of a tent because he could hear nearby voices and feel the cold wind as it whipped through the fabric, chilling his little body to the bone. The last couple of days had passed in a blur of darkness and motion. Every few hours, a cloaked figure would push a tray of food toward him. Wonderful food. His favorite foods. Pizza and barbecued chicken drumsticks, burgers and hot dogs. At first he kicked the food away. All he wanted was his mommy. He cried endlessly for his mommy. But hunger eventually drove him to eat and now he looked forward to these meals. They were the only good thing in his world.

Sleep was a mixed blessing. Mostly, it was fitful, with fear and confusion seeping into his dreams. But sometimes, she was there. About six years old, his age, with big blue eyes and angel hair - white and glowing like the sun - and he didn't know why, but he just _needed_ to be with her. Other times, he was back in that department store. Weaving behind his mommy through the racks of clothing as tall as trees. He'd been so bored. The store was stuffy and crowded and he was getting antsy. Then he'd heard someone call his name. He looked up at his mom, but she was busily thumbing through a stack of t-shirts. He'd peered down an aisle and that's when he saw her. Just the sight of her filled him with happiness. She smiled sweetly at him and waved for him to come over. He had no thought other than to follow. And he did. Through the store, out the door, and then it all faded into darkness.

Right now, something was happening. Something different. There was movement and the cloth doors were drawn apart allowing a cloaked figure to step inside. Toby could see the flickering light of a distant fire, but that was soon extinguished as a black hood was forced roughly over his head. He squealed, as much in surprise as in fear. A thick hand gripped his wrist like a vise and he was led away from the tent, over rocky earth, and into light. Burning fires reflected against the dark cloth of his hood and his vision pulsed like throbbing blood. Around him, on all sides, he could hear chanting. A chorus of voices talking together in some funny language.

They came to a quick halt and the hand released his wrist and fluidly picked him up from under the armpits - setting him on a cold stone slab. In another quick movement, the hood was pulled from his head and he blinked into the light. Toby took in his surroundings, fear muting him into silence. They were in a graveyard. He knew from the trips his parents had taken him on to visit grandpa Charlie at National Cemetery. Crumbling headstones and grave markers dotted the patchy grass around them. The stone they'd sat him on was a crypt, a makeshift altar. People of all shapes, sizes and ages, draped in robes of deep red, wreathed him from all sides. They looked like normal people, but their eyes were all wrong. Blacked out like monsters. A deep shiver shook his frame.

As he stared out, he could feel the terror rising in him. Filling his stomach and clawing up his chest. He was about to find his voice and start screaming when a small figure stepped in front of him. Her hair blazed like spun gold in the firelight. Her eyes, large blue discs, gazed up at him solemnly. He was spellbound. The girl moved up to him and put a delicate hand on his shoulder. She looked deep into his eyes and smiled reassuringly. The boy relaxed. He trusted and was hers completely. As he stared into the crystal pools of her eyes, they fogged over, clouding a milky white. And he was in oblivion. In a flash of movement, quick as lightning, a tiny hand whipped up into the air and brought down a dagger. Stabbing the blade deep into Tobias Fletcher's heart.


	2. Chapter 2

One

"No, no…please." It was a child's whimper, scared and small. Gone was the swagger, the cavalier posturing. The mask. Pain had stripped it away. Fear and remorse had peeled it all away. Dean was in a long room. The walls of filthy gray stone were lined with cruel implements. Medieval tools, each forged to distinct purpose. To extract a very specific pain. He had come to know them all. At one end of the room, flames licked from a large iron brazier. Several tools waited in the fire, their tips searing with white heat. They were forgotten for the moment, put aside for later use.

Dean was in the center of the room, strapped into a barbaric-looking chair. Tremors shook his body, but he couldn't move. He couldn't fold himself up or turn away. The demon stood behind him. Almost tenderly, it rested one hand on the side of his face while the other pulled a strand of memory from his forehead. Dean screamed.

__

Images flashed before his eyes, tangled memories of himself a lot younger, barely a teenager and behind the wheel of his dad's truck. He was so scared. His dad sagged against the passenger door, unconscious and losing a lot of blood. Something had gone wrong. It was so dark and the crooked road through the mountains was barely drivable. Dean had to fight to stay in control of the large vehicle. He was so tense, his fingers clenched the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Please…stop," Dean gasped from the chair, pleading up at the demon. He'd died a thousand deaths in that room. Been driven mad from pain repeatedly only to be coaxed back into consciousness again and again. But this was worse. The demon looked down at him sadly, but the images continued. Enveloping him.

__

Dean kept stealing looks over at his dad. He wasn't moving, but his breath was escaping in ragged bursts from his throat. After what seemed like hours, the road finally began to even out, widen a bit at the edges. He knew he was almost out of the woods, nearing the main road and help. He stretched his leg, putting his foot more solidly on the gas, he was desperate to get off that awful path. He stole another look at his father, watching until he was sure he saw the rise and fall of his chest. Finally satisfied, he turned his attention back to the road, just in time to see-

"NO!" Dean screamed, bolting upright from the twin hotel bed. He was soaked in sweat and the sheets were balled up into a mass at his feet. He looked wildly around, unsure of his surroundings. Sam had been working at a small table near the door and was out of his chair.

"Dean! Dean, are you alright?" Dean looked blankly up at his brother, then realizing where he was, sagged back against the headboard. He rubbed both eyes with one hand.

"Yeah, I guess I was having a nightmare…" Sam sat down across from him on the other bed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean almost considered telling Sam about the dream, but instead said,

"Yeah, uh, I dreamt I was being chased by a guy in a fluffy, pink bunny suit. What is it about adults dressed as bunny-rabbits that is so…freaky?"

Sam laughed, "That's a good question." He knew Dean was hiding something, but was glad for the traces of his brother's old sense of humor. "I'm used to being the one with the nightmares."

"Yeah, well you can have them back." Dean looked around, just noticing the light and the open laptop. "What are you still doing up? Couldn't you sleep?"

"No…I was just doing some research. I think I might've found something interesting."

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

"Well, I was combing through some news reports, local papers from small towns and there's been a rash of kidnappings in the last few weeks."

"How many are we talking about?" Dean asked, rising from the bed.

"Six, so far. All kids between five and seven years old."

"Six? Sam, it's a big country, six kidnappings in three weeks doesn't sound that unusual-"

"Well, that's what I thought, but then I had a hunch." Sam paused, waiting for some kind of crack like, _A hunch? Well, by all means, spill it Angela Lansbury, _but Dean just looked at him expectantly.

"Well, six kidnappings scattered across the country might not mean anything, but six kids disappear from six communities on the outskirts of the 100 mile devil's trap in Wyoming, _that_ raises a few red flags."

"The train tracks that Samuel Colt built? You're kidding me."

"Nope. They're all from different towns, different communities around the tracks. There doesn't seem to be any connection, so local authorities haven't put it together." Dean pulled the laptop toward him, clicking open the different windows and news articles, then looked back up at his brother.

"You think it's demons?" Sam nodded. "This was a good catch." It was meant as a compliment, but it sounded like an accusation. He cleared his throat. "So, demons, huh? Why is it always kids?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't usually end well for them."

"Hmm, yeah," Dean was quiet for a moment, his brow creased in thought. "Hey, you weren't planning on sleeping tonight were you?" Sam looked at him, knowing what he was thinking.

"I can sleep in the car."

In less than an hour they were barreling down the highway in the Impala. Sam had taken good care of it during the four months he was away, but Dean still felt the need to rest a reassuring hand on the leather. Dark countryside whipped past and the cool air, perfumed with the scent of sweet wheat came in through the open window. Next to him, Sam leaned back against the seat with his eyes closed and, before long, steady snoring came from his side of the car.

Dean took it all in. Looking ahead, where the miles of asphalt disappeared beneath the Impala, to the darkness where the cool, early autumn air traced his skin, to his right where his little brother slept alive and healthy. Somewhere inside him, in the parts that were still dead or dormant, something kindled. He was filled with a strange longing for the present. To connect to it, because he knew it was good and there was life in it. Things between him and Sam had been strained at best since he'd come back from Hell. Right now, though, he could almost pretend things were the way they used to be. There were still a few good hours of night left and he was glad for it.


	3. Chapter 3

Two

The sun was shining in Sam's face and the car wasn't moving. He squinted against the morning light and looked at the driver's side. Empty. No Dean and the keys were gone. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and craned his head around trying to get a sense of where they were. It looked like Main Street America. The downtown of some small town, fending off the push of corporate mega stores while hearkening back to a simpler time. Among the old courthouse and county offices, a brick building stood out proudly - a distinguished spattering of ivy growing up its sides. The sign in front proclaimed it _The Rock City Miner._

There was a quick knock, then the driver's side door opened. Dean sat down, careful not to spill the two coffees he carried in a cardboard tray.

"Good morning, sunshine!" he said with forced joviality. "I got you some coffee," he handed Sam a cup.

"Mm, thanks. And thanks for leaving the keys so I could find a bathroom." Dean rooted around the floor and came up with an empty plastic soda bottle.

"Got a porta-john right here."

"Gross, Dean."

"I think I have a moist towelette around here somewhere…"

"Okay. New subject. So, we're in Rock Springs?"

"Yep. You said one of the missing kids was from here. The department store the last kid was yanked from is in the next town over. It opens in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I figure we talk to the newspaper here, see if there was anything they left out of the story." Sam nodded, taking a swig from his cup.

"Good thinking," he said after a swallow of coffee.

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," he opened the paper bag he'd been carrying and pulled out a pastry. "Danish?"

--

The offices of the _Rock City Miner _smelled like furniture polish and had all the bustle of a morgue. There were four desks, two of them occupied, and a couple of offices whose inhabitants had yet to report for the day. Sam and Dean stood near the door for several minutes while the two go-getter reporters typed away at their computers. After a few loud throat clearings failed to get their attention, Dean walked over to the nearest desk and knocked roughly on the monitor.

"Hey! Smallville!" The young man looked up in irritation from his keyboard. He was thin and reedy and wore Clark Kent-style glasses and a light blue dress shirt.

"Can I help you?" he said icily.

"We hope so," Sam said, stepping up to the desk and flashing an apologetic smile. "We're from the _Wyoming Tribune Eagle_, the Brower family asked us to do a feature on the disappearance of their son, Raymond. They're hoping it'll shine some light on the case, maybe get some new leads."

Clark Kent looked at them suspiciously, "The _Tribune_ is doing a story because the Brower's asked them to?"

"Well…you know, a friend of a friend of the family knows our boss and asked for a favor." The excuse seemed to satisfy him and he sat back in his chair, expelling a long whoosh of air from his lips.

"It's a shame about Ray. He was a sweet kid. Really shy."

"Were you the one who covered the story?"

"Yep, lucky me, I got to interview the friends and family…they were destroyed."

"Really? Is there anything you could tell us that maybe didn't make it into the paper?"

"Well, I reported it pretty much as I got it. Ray was at a birthday party at a friend's house. Big party, the whole neighborhood was there. While the other kids were hacking away at a piñata, Ray went to go play on the swing set. Next thing you know, he was gone."

"Did anyone see anything?"

"No, well, a couple of people saw him on the swings laughing and talking like he was having a conversation, but he was alone. And one person even saw him hop off the swings and head toward the back gate."

"All on his own?" Clark nodded.

"Did anyone notice anything else strange, like, if any of the other swings were moving back and forth by themselves?" Dean asked. Clark gave him a weird look.

"I…didn't think to ask about that."

"I think we have all we need," Sam broke in. "Thanks for your time, you've been a big help."

"Yeah, don't mention it." They left the newspaper office, Sam shaking his head in quasi-amusement.

"That was smooth. I'm surprised you didn't just kick him in the junk and ask if anyone reported seeing a bunch of ghosts or demons wandering around."

"So, I'm a bit rusty. Sue me. It's not like we'll ever see him again."

"I guess. It was just a little - less professional than I'm used to from you."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Well, when you've spent what feels like a thousand years slow-roasting on a spit in Hell, you can tell me how much tact and nuance still matter to you."

"You were roasted on a spit? I thought you didn't remember anything-"

"I don't. It was just an example. I wasn't roasted on a spit. At least, as far as I know." He flashed a half-smile and got a scowl in response.

"Hey, what time is it?" he asked.

"Almost ten."

"Good, the department store will be open soon."

They pulled their blue Securiguard jumpsuits on in the car outside of Bardwell's department store and plucked the appropriate I.D. badges from the center console. It was a fairly large store on one end of a depressing shopping mall. Inside, it was mostly empty and they made their way to a register where a woman was doing her morning count of the till. Dean managed to turn on the charm and they soon found themselves up in the security offices watching black and white footage of the last abduction on three different monitors. They saw six-year-old Toby Fletcher and his mom come in and make their way through the store. Mom seemed to be on a school-clothes buying mission and the boy padded reluctantly behind.

"Hey, check this out," Sam said watching one of the screens intently. Something had caught the kid's attention. He was smiling and even cast a small wave.

"Who's he waving at?" Dean wondered, surveying the other monitors and vantage points. "There's nobody on any of the screens."

"I don't know, but he saw something and Ray Brower saw something…wait, there he goes!" Sure enough, Toby bounded away from his distracted mom and toward the door, a big, delighted smile on his face the whole time.

"God, it's like the pied piper luring kids away…" Sam's word trail off, something had occurred to him.

"So what is it now? A ghost? What's the connection with the devil's trap?"

"No," Sam shook his head, "I don't think it's a ghost. I have an idea of what it might be, but I want to look something up online first to be sure."

--

They found a room at the Lonesome Cowpoke Inn. The room was a kind of ramshackle tribute to the romantic idea of the lonely cowboy, complete with rope and spur decorations, a blow-up plastic bull and a mounted deer's head. Taking advantage of the free wireless internet, Sam set his laptop up on the little desk while Dean stretched out on one of the beds. The long night of driving and the morning's work were catching up with him, but he kept his eyes open while Sam searched the web.

"Here it is, I knew I'd read this before." Sam said after a few minutes.

"Read what before?"

"Lilith. According to the lore surrounding her, she was known to lure children away from their parents. Mostly boys, but girls, too. In fact, some cultures even place an amulet around their children's necks to protect against her."

"_She's _the piper? I thought she went M.I.A. after what went down in New Harmony?" Dean was careful to avoid the details of Sam's confrontation with Lilith.

"She did, she was…I mean she didn't even sound the alarm when we busted you out of Hell."

"What a jip," Dean tried to joke, not liking where this conversation was headed.

"We were lucky," Sam said seriously. "But whatever happened, it looks like she's back now. We have to go to the cemetery and see what she's up to." Sam was already out of his chair.

"Wait a second there, Sparky!" Dean got up from the bed. "You tell me Lilith's back on the scene after having all kinds of time to regroup and now you want to go charging into her last known address? Like you said, she's up to something. Bobby's not far out, I'd feel a lot better if he met us on the way."

"Yeah, okay, we'll call Bobby." Sam looked quizzically at Dean for a moment, "Huh."

"Huh, what?"

"No, it's - I'm just not used to this new sense of self-preservation. It's interesting."

"Yeah, well, let's just say I'm not in any big hurry to go back there…even if I have to dig up Doc Benton and beat the secret to eternal life out of him." He was only half-kidding.

"Okay, Dean. I'm glad to hear it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Taking you off suicide watch only makes my job easier."

Dean let out a mirthless laugh and went to grab his phone off the bureau to call Bobby. He glanced up at the dresser mirror and the blood drained from his face. There was something wrong with his reflection. It stared back at him; his face, his clothes-but a trail of black-red blood ran from each eye. The Dean inside the mirror lifted a red right hand and pointed it at him accusingly.

"No!" He gasped in despair.

"What is it? What's happening?" Sam had his gun drawn and rushed over to his brother's side. Dean blinked at the reflection, it was just him again. His spooked eyes stared widely back at him. The blood was gone.  
"Nothing, it was nothing. I just thought I saw something for a second-"

"Wait a minute," Sam went back to his computer and scrolled down a few pages.

"It's nothing, Sammy, I'm just strung out from lack of sleep."

"Here. See. It says the daughters of Lilith are able to use mirrors as portals out into the world."

"So what, now? Are you saying we need to bash all these mirrors in? Sammy?" Sam's eyes were closed.

"No," Sam said, opening them. "It's taken care of." Dean gave him a wary look.

"What? Just like that?"

"I've sealed the mirrors. Nothing's getting through them." Deans expression quickly went from incomprehension to anger.

"So, just like that, huh? Just close your eyes and poof, the room's demon proof." Dean took a few steps then knocked a pile of crap off the dresser. "Damn it!" he shouted, turning his back on his brother.

"Dean, this is a good thing! The stuff that's brewing, the war that is coming our way. We'd be stupid and reckless not to use every weapon we have." He went to Dean, trying to get in front of him, face him. Dean dodged and turned away.

"Dean!"

"I'm serious, Sammy, I don't even want to look at you right now." But Sam felt his blood boil, instead of letting the issue go, he got pissed.

"Oh, drop the martyr crap! Even if you can't remember it now, you know and I know that there was a whole hell of a lot more to busting you out of the pit than sidestepping Lilith. If I hadn't used my abilities, learned to control them, you'd still be there."

"Good! If it meant this, I wish to god you'd left me there-"

"Bull! Just five minutes ago you were rattling off on how you'd rather dig up a monster than go back there-"

"I didn't want this! Not for you." Defeated, Dean sagged to the bed and sat on the edge with his head in his hands. God, he had a headache. "I didn't want this for you." Sam sat next to him, staring ahead.

"I know. Believe me, I know that. But this goes beyond you. Like it or not, this is my destiny."

"Destiny…" Dean repeated quietly, he sounded sick.

"It'd be nice to have your blessing, but even if I don't, it's done." They were quiet for a moment. Sam might've gone on, but Dean stood and grabbed his phone.

"It's getting late, I'd better call Bobby." He stepped out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Three

They met at what was once a frontier church. Time and neglect had reduced it to a frame and some rickety old boards. Bobby was already waiting when they got there. He sat in the front seat of his old Chevelle, low country music wafting out the open window. When he saw their headlights, he took the keys from the ignition and climbed out.

"Hey, Bobby." Dean smiled, genuinely happy to see the older man.

"Get over here, boy," Bobby said, grabbing Dean in a bear hug. The kid had become a son to him. He pulled away and looked at Dean full in the face.

"How you been doing?" Bobby, of course, had been at Sam's side when they busted Dean out of Hell. But in the intervening days, Bobby had gone home to deal with the piles on top of piles of bills and other neglected business - and also to tend to his dog, Rumsfeld, Jr.

"Good, you know, keeping busy…" Bobby could see from his eyes, that Dean was anything but good. He held his gaze for a moment, then patted him on the back.

"So, uh, on the phone you said the demons were up to something."

Dean filled Bobby in on all the kidnappings and the events of the past 24 hours, then they piled into the cars and drove over the ruined train tracks to the old cemetery. The place was deserted. They picked their way cautiously under the rusting entryway and toward Colt's crypt, the door to Hell. They weren't sure what to expect. Lilith still held the key, the Colt. For all they knew, she could've unleashed Hell on Earth. Again. But the door was closed, locked tight and seemingly untouched. They went deeper into the cemetery.

"This ground's been disturbed," Bobby said, kicking at a clump of dry grass and dirt. "By more than a few footsteps."

Sam wandered to a low crypt. The granite top was roughly level with his waist. He ran the beam of his flashlight over it, stopping on several wine-colored blotches. "Blood," he whispered, putting his hand on the cold stone.

"Guys!" he called, "I've got something." Dean and Bobby came over and saw for themselves.

"Blood? Do you think it belongs to the missing kids?" Sam nodded gravely.

"That bitch," Dean swore, pounding the air with his fist.

As Bobby circled the crypt, something caught his eye.

"Wait a second-" he crouched, sweeping away dirt and dry bristles. When he was done, they were looking at a painted symbol; two opposite triangles pierced through with a line.

"It's a sigil."

"Not just any sigil," Sam said in disbelief, "it's the Sigil of Azazel."

"So, what, is she summoning _him_ now?" Dean asked incredulously. "Do demons even have ghosts?"

Sam shook his head, he had no clue. But with a growing understanding, Bobby took in the scene. The sigil, the bloody altar, the location, he knew what they were doing.

"Not summoning. _Resurrecting_."

"What?" They looked at him in horror.

"Throughout history, in the lore of gods, pagan or otherwise, god's rise, they rule, they fade away. Some die. But as long as there's belief out there - somebody praying to them, spreading the word, _sacrificing_ to them - in one form or another, they exist."

"Yeah, but Bobby, _god_ being the operative word here. Azazel's just a friggin demon."

"You sure about that? _Lilith_ is a demon to us, but the Wiccans worship her as a goddess. Gods, demons, they're just different sides of the same coin."

"Jesus," Dean said, the ramifications of Bobby's words sinking in. "So, these kids, they're all being sacrificed -"

"To make him stronger," Bobby nodded. "That would be my guess."

"But, it doesn't make any sense," Sam protested, "Lilith was the new power. She wanted to take over Azazel's reign. Why bring him back?"

"It makes perfect sense. Judging from how she fizzled out in New Harmony and her no-show when we sprung Dean, she's scared of you. And with good reason." Dean shifted uncomfortably where he stood. "She needs backup. Azazel made you what you are, whatever abilities you have, you got from him. He might be the only thing that can stop you."

"_Stop me._ You make me sound like a plague."

"A plague to demons is something worth spreading."

"Okay, that was cheesy."

--

Back at the Cowpoke, Bobby rented the room next to theirs. Dean went out to get a twelve-pack. Instead of stopping back at his own room, he knocked on Bobby's door.

"Dean." Bobby greeted, opening it just wide enough to let him in. "Sam coming?"

"Nah…he's probably in there moving ketchup bottles with his mind or something." Sensing it would've been a bad idea to press the issue, Bobby let it drop. They drank the beer, mostly in silence, while some sports show droned away on the TV. Dean's thoughts were far away - at the cemetery, on the blood on that slab, on all those kids. By the time Dean made his clumsy way back into his own room, the lights were out and Sam was snoring softly.

__

After what seemed like hours, the road finally began to even out, widen a bit at the edges. Dean knew he was almost out of the woods, nearing the main road and help. He stretched his leg, putting his foot more solidly on the gas, he was desperate to get off that awful path. He stole another look at his father, watching until he was sure he saw the rise and fall of his chest. Finally satisfied, he turned his attention back to the road, just as the child stepped into the path.

__

He was young, about six or seven. The moon emerged from a patch of cloud and Dean saw everything clearly, as if it were on television. The kid had light-brown hair, cropped close to his skull and he was being dragged into the road by a rambunctious puppy. When he was halfway across, he heard the roar of the truck's engine as it careened down the hill. He froze in the street. The puppy pulled against the leash, trying to spur him onward. With eyes large as saucers, he gazed into the headlights of the giant truck as it bore down on him. He was paralyzed.

Dean bolted upright in bed. Once again, he was drenched in sweat and the sheets were balled in a mass at his feet. Despite everything, Sam slept soundly in the next bed. The room was still dark, except for the flickering light outside of the Cowpoke's neon sign; a cracking whip. He willed his heart rate down to normal. The night air cooled the sweat on his skin and the chill felt welcome. The dream was still there, what he remembered of it. He tried to push it away, but still wasn't successful by the time a knock came at the door. Sam was already reaching for the gun beneath his pillow as Dean went to peer out the drapes. It was Bobby. He motioned for Sam to lower his pistol, then unhooked the chain to let him in.

"Sorry to wake you boys. News just came over the scanner that another kid was taken."

"Jesus," Dean said, turning on the light. "When?"

"A few hours ago…it happened over in Casper, 'bout a 40-minute drive west of here."

"They could be anywhere by now," Dean pulled his jeans from the back of a chair.

"Yeah, well, thought about that. If I had the equipment, I could use Lilith's name to get a fix on her, but I don't and we don't have the time to drive back to Sioux Falls. But…we've got something better than that." He looked at Sam, who understood and nodded back at him.

"Bobby-" There was an edge to Dean's voice.

"Dean, Bobby's right. I can find her. All I need is to cast my thoughts out."

"No."

"Dean, what your brother can do, the things I've seen him do, is amazing. He's not just a weapon for the coming war he is _the_ weapon. Now, whatever issue you have about all this - you'd better put a lid on it, son, because this isn't debatable."

"Come on, Bobby! This is _dangerous_. What if it's like, the more he uses these powers, the more he gets consumed by them and then the harder it'll be for him to stop-"

"It's not crack, Dean" Sam broke in. "Look, I've got to do this. Every minute we waste is one less that kid has left."

"Fine." Dean said between clenched teeth, "Do it."

Sam closed his eyes and sent his thoughts out into the air. He rose above the motel, over the town and beyond, using the name Lilith as a homing device. It didn't take long until he got a lock - her force was a vortex, pulsing and whirling, made up of the screams of men and children.

"I see her."

"Where is she?" Bobby's voice came through static.

"Not far…about 30 miles away…she's in a house in the country."

"How many demons?" Sam looked around, he could see eight or nine shifting auras and down in a basement below, a white light. The kid.

"Nine. I can see the boy - he's still alive."

"What about Yellow-Eyes?" Dean broke in, "Any sign of him?" Sam scanned the area for signs of Azazel.

"No. There's nothing." Sam fell silent and then opened his eyes, at once present and back with them.

"Well, that was freaky," Dean said, staring at him like he would a cursed rabbit's foot. As far as Dean looks went though, that wasn't half bad.

"So, no Yellow-Eyes, huh? What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged. "Maybe the sacrifices aren't working…or maybe he's just not strong enough to pop up on my radar yet."

"Or maybe he's there, with most of his strength back, but you can't sense him because he made you what you are."

"Even so, Dean, we've got to go in there. That kid's life depends on it."

"Sam's right." Bobby broke in.

"Listen to you guys, go in there. Sure, no problem. Nine demons and Lilith - the supposed big bad baddy - piece of cake."

"They won't be there long, son." Bobby said, in a matter of fact tone. Dean looked at him hard, then at Sam who shrugged. _Shrugged!_ Demons don't scare me, shrug.

"Oh, okay…" he said weakly. It was just dawning on Dean how little he knew about the scope of Sam's powers.

They took separate cars to the house. Dean led, his foot solidly on the gas, and Sam navigated the way. They made it there in 18 minutes.

"So, let me get this straight-" Dean said as they neared the house. "I'm supposed to run inside, grab the kid, and let you take on ten demons by yourself?"

"While Bobby covers us, yeah, that's the plan."

"Plan? You know, the last time we tried something that stupid, what happened? Oh, yeah - I died!"

"That's not fair…you were going to die anyway," Sam flashed a quick smile. "Besides, things have changed."

"Yes, they have," Dean said grimly. He pulled right into the driveway and threw the car in park. Nearly missing the place, an annoyed Bobby caught up with them shortly after. Their arrival was no secret and by the time they were all out of their cars the whole nest of demons had come outside, flanking the front door.

"Think they know we're here?" Dean said dryly. Sam took the lead, moving to the bottom of the porch. Dean quickly caught up with him.

"We want the boy," Sam said levelly, sweeping his gaze over each of their faces.

"And if we don't give him to you?" asked a soccer mom near the center.

"Then you all die…and we take the boy." From inside the house there came a sudden giggling. High and musical. They watched the door as a little girl emerged. She was cherubic, with curls of spun gold and eyes like deep, blue pools. She stared directly at Sam. If there was any fear there, she hid it well.

"I was wondering how long it would take you dodo heads to catch up with me." She slid her eyes over to Dean, "I see you have something of mine. Indian giver."

"Just give us the boy," Sam said coldly. A small smile played on Lilith's heart-shaped lips.

"You can't take him, silly! We _need_ him."

"Oh yeah, we know all about your plan to bring back Yellow-Eyes," Dean sneered. "Did you really think we'd sit back and let that happen?" Lilith kept her gaze on Sam.

"God, he's like an annoying little fly, isn't he? Buzz, buzz, buzz…you know, I may not be able to touch you, Sam, but your brother is fair game. Frankly, I think I'd be doing us all a favor-"

"You're not going to lay a hand on him ever again!" Sam charged forward, planning to blow the bitch to smithereens. He took one step and the house exploded.

"No!" Dean shouted. Fire and glass poured from the windows. As Sam staggered back, Lilith and her demons threw their heads back, thick plumes of black smoke poured from their lips and bodies. Dean recovered before Sam, he charged up the stairs and plunged into the house.

"Dean!" Sam shouted in horror. He and Bobby followed him up the steps and into the fire. Everything was burning. Sam ran toward the kitchen which led down into the basement. As he and Bobby flung open the door, Dean charged up the basement steps, clutching a small boy in his arms. Hacking and gasping they made their way out, clearing the porch as another explosion rocked the house. Dean threw himself behind the impala and sunk to the ground. The kid in his arms was dirty, scared and coughing, but he was alive.

Flames spat from all the doors and windows of the house, there would soon be nothing left. Inside the inferno, a pair of eyes watched the boys as they got their bearings. The eyes were nearly impossible to make out against the wall of yellow fire. And, in a second, they were gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Epilogue

They took the kid home. Leaving him with incredibly grateful, if dazed, parents who had a newfound faith in the FBI. As they pulled away from the house, Dean loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar.

"I hope he'll be okay."

"You got to him before the flames did. He hardly had a scratch on him."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," Sam turned in his seat to look at Dean directly. "How about you? You ran right into that fire."

"Just a little crispy around the edges…it was nothing I couldn't handle." Sam didn't move. Dean looked at him from the corner of his eye.

"What?"

"What's going on with you?"

"You mean, besides the obvious?"

"Yeah, I mean besides the obvious. I've known you for what, 26 years, give me some credit. You rattle off this spiel about how you want to be careful, you're in no hurry to go back to Hell, but the second a house _explodes_, you hurl yourself inside it!"

"I guess you could say I'm kind of an enigma, rolled in a mystery, wrapped in tasty pretzel coating - like a pizza-flavored Combo."

"Just…tell me, okay?" he said wearily. Dean met his brother's eyes, then looked away, staring hard out the windshield.

"I killed a kid." Sam's head whipped up in shock.

"What?"

"It was a long time ago…I think you were like, nine, so I must've been around 13. Dad and I got wind of an acheri murdering motorists up in the mountains of Virginia-"

"An acheri - that's a type of demon that disguises itself as a small child to lure travelers off the road?"

Dean nodded. "And it was a nasty one. It wasn't my first hunting trip, but it was one of them. We left you in the motel with the Cartoon Network and headed out there. On the way, dad filled me in on the details…how the acheri tricked people, it's disguises. He said that if we saw one of these things in the middle of the road that under no circumstance were we to stop. He said if we saw one to keep driving…" He trailed off.

"Dean?"

"We got up there and everything was going according to plan, we had the thing cornered. But dad was still trying to keep an eye on me, he let his guard down and the thing went for him. It hurt him really bad and he was unconscious. I had to get us out of there. I dragged him into the truck and I got behind the wheel. My feet could still barely touch the pedals. I drove like hell trying to get us out of those mountains. I was almost at the main road when the kid stepped out into the middle of the road. He looked just like dad said he would…except he had this little dog on a leash. I kept hoping he'd move out of the road, but he just stood there like a deer in the headlights, you know? The road was really narrow, there was nowhere for me to go…so, I just kept driving."

"Jesus."

"Next few days, news reports of a hit and run of a little boy and his dog were all over the news. Dad never said anything to me about it, but he ditched the truck with Bobby and got a new one." Dean slapped a tear away from his cheek. "Poor me, huh?"

"It wasn't your fault Dean."

"Yeah, sure."

"That bastard."

"What?"

"You never should have been in that position. You were just a kid, you should've been home watching the Cartoon Network with me. If he hadn't been so damn obsessed-"

"_I_ wanted to be in that position. I wanted to go hunting and it was me, _me_, that killed that boy. And _nothing_ will ever change that."

"But what about the kid tonight? And Lucas Barr, Matt Pike, Ben Braeden - how many more do you have to save?" Dean turned and met his eyes.

"I don't know," he said sadly. "All of them?"

They were silent. After a long while, Dean cleared his throat, "So, out there tonight…you were good."

"Um, thanks."

"Of course, I didn't actually see you do anything."

"Yeah, well, sometimes the fear of what you might do is just as effective as actually doing it."

"So…you're kind of like the Godfather."

Sam smiled at that, "No, I'm _exactly_ like the Godfather."

Dean laughed, then added seriously, "Look, I may not be comfortable with the things that you can do, but I understand and I think it's important."

Sam looked truly relieved. "Thank you. It _is_ important."

"Of course, if you do turn dark side, I'm still going to have to kill you."

Sam cracked a smile, "Well, assuming I haven't killed you first."

"Oh, that's not funny."

"I guess not, huh?"

"And, Sammy - _thank you. _For busting me out of Hell."

"Any time, Dean."

Any time.

--


End file.
